


Stretched Thin

by reedswrote



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedswrote/pseuds/reedswrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*X-Men First Class fic* Charles is exhausted and his head is pounding. He just needs a moment to himself, but it gets harder and harder as the day goes on. Erik helps him relax. <br/>side Alex/Hank, unrequited Hank/Raven</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretched Thin

Charles throws himself to the hard concrete floor just in time - intense heat and blinding red light barely, _so narrowly_ , misses his head as the wall behind him burst into flames. Moments later Alex seems to have reached his boiling point. "You said you fixed this."

Charles cautiously lifts his hands off of his head and stands up in time to see Hank's face turn a vivid pink, trembling hands fumbling to flip through the pages of his clip board. "I did, I did- I don't know what went wrong-"

"Yeah, well that isn't good enough. I almost killed Professor X-"

"I'm fine," Charles says, but even to his own ears his voice is weak, causing it to be easily overridden. His head is aching. Pounding in the way it does when he doesn't take the time away to clear his mind-

"What are you doing? Seriously-" Alex's temper is flaring as he rips off his jumpsuit, letting the top half hang from his waist. His bare chest flushes as his wrist gets caught in one of the sleeves, elastic tugging, stretching with him, making it difficult to free himself. His anger and annoyance seems to ricochet off of the walls, only to slam into Charles' mind. "Isn't this what you _do_? Create shit that's supposed to _work_?" He finally tugs his hand free, elastic snapping, and walks swiftly up to Hank, who seems to have given up on trying to find anything useful in his notes and now seems more than a little uncomfortable. As Hank gets closer closer closer Charles' head poundspounds _pounds_ and he vaguely wonders why Hank isn't using _his_ gift to outrun Alex's wrath. But the thought is swept out of his head when Alex gets right into Hank's face so that their noses are barely inches apart and irritability scuttles along Charles' frontal lobes.

"I'm tired of this," he says, voice low and more threatening than his shouting. "Stop fucking around with that shot for your damn feet and do what you're supposed to."

Usually, when his mind is steady, when it is calm and centered, Charles can block out such strong burst of emotions with ease, but in his sensitive state he feels every wave of Hank's hurt and bewilderment wash over him; it is mingled with Alex's intense annoyance, and what, curiously enough, feels like instantaneous regret. Charles, forgotten completely by the other two, allows himself a brief lapse in appearances to scrub a slightly clammy palm over his face.

He needs to lie down, needs to rest. Block out everything and sleep-

He glances back at the two young men squaring off. Although, it looks as if Alex has won this round - Hank is the one turning away, expression valiantly trying not to give away his pain at Alex's needlessly harsh words. A quick movement catches Charles' exhausted eye and he moves his gaze downwards – Alex has a hand on Hank's arm – wrist - and a steady motion reveals itself to be his thumb smoothing along the pulse. The sensation of regret, intense, almost pleading, spikes. Hank looks down to where their skin is connected. A fissure splits the air and when a shot of what feels like warmth and lust strikes through the surrounding space, he has no idea from which of the two young men it pulses from.

He says nothing; Charles feels like he is intruding on something that has been building, mounting, for longer than anyone, including himself, knew. Tearing his eyes away is easy and he chooses to walk away from them quietly, shrugging off the singed cardigan as he passes the still flaming wall.

He's not about to touch whatever is going on between them.

**O o o**

"Charles!"

Pain, as sharp and resounding as his sister's voice in the empty kitchen, cracks against Charles' skull. He balls the burned cardigan in his fists.

"Raven. Hello." He tries to keep his voice light – if she discovers his head is hurting him she'll mother hen him to death. "I was actually on my way to my bedroom, if we could-"

"It'll only take a second," she presses, sitting down at the kitchen table. Anticipation and a sense of nerves ripple through the air, and Charles clamps down as hard as he can. His promise to Raven still stands, even in this state. He sighs and crosses the space to sit gingerly on the kitchen chair – he thinks he pulled something trying to duck out of the way of bright hot surges of energy.

"What is wrong?"

"Oh, nothing…" Annoyance surges up in his chest, although he tries to keep his face impassive. His back hurts, and his mind feels as if needles are poking at every available inch, and this is not the time to play coy.

"Raven."

As if sensing his mood, she takes a deep breath and continues on somewhat hesitantly. "It's just… Okay, I need your advice. I know it may not seem that major to you, but this is the first time I think I may actually _have_ something- Someone. I mean." She pauses and sighs. "It's about Hank."

Charles wills himself not to wince.

"Do you think I'm being too forward? He seems interested, but whenever I _do_ something he just- backs away or mumbles something about some vials in the lab you set up for him..."

His temples throb. Almost involuntarily, careful to keep out of Raven's mind, he stretches out tendrils, feeling. He searches briefly, finds it immediately – they are still in the Safety Room. In his minds eye there is a flurry of colors, emotions, rushed thoughts –

_finally-_

"Should I just kiss him?"

_god his skin tastessogood –_

"I mean, there's being forward and then just _grabbing_ him and kissing him you know?"

_handshandsfuck-_

"I just really like him Charles. I've never liked someone who…" Her voice softens, and the part of Charles that is paying attention crumbles slightly, heart cracking. "I didn't even know there were anymore like us. I didn't believe you, but now I've found him and… I _want_ that."

_needwanteverythingcloser._

The lust is thick and heady, clouding his mind, almost numbing his tongue. _Pleasepleaseplease_ underlain with _sobeautiful._ And Charles finally pulls back. Clamps his mind down again. Pays full attention to his little sister, tongue still heavy and mind still buzzing unpleasantly with knowledge and throbbing pain.

"I believe you should talk to Hank," he says carefully - he feels like he is condemning her with this advice. If it was just pure lust he'd felt in all of that probbing Charles really wouldn't worry. He _did_ go to Oxford after all. Boys will be boys. No, it is the coiling, curling wisps of desire, of _feeling,_ that still lingers under that lust, still hovering around his senses, that has him worried for her sake.

Raven pouts slightly, obviously expecting Charles to give her step by step instructions on how to deal with the situation. "You don't think I've been _doing_ that?"

"My dear, you have been hinting, flirting, wooing, insinuating, throwing about double entendre like it is confetti, but you have not _spoken_ to Hank," Charles tells her gently. "We scholarly types aren't as adept in matters of the heart as you social butterflies."

She smiles at him now, beautiful, and the smile he returns hurts. He wants to be more help, he does, but everything is crashing down on him now – the headache, the knowledge, her looming heartbreak, and Charles cannot take it. Not right now. Later, after a lie down, yes. But not now.

He gets up, walks around the table, and kisses her on the forehead. "You are gorgeous," he murmurs against her skin.

Her glow follows him out of the room.

**O o o**

He is passing the study when the sharp familiar whistle sounds and there is the sound of shattering glass. Charles ponders briefly if he should check to see what priceless heirloom Sean has broken today (really to see if the boy is alright) when the young man in question backs out of the room he was just occupying, closing the door quietly behind him.

His red hair flops endearingly as he looks down one end of the hall, but he freezes when he sees Charles, exhausted, aching, and singed, staring at him.

The moment rolls on and the guilt mounts, jagged, murky waves causing Charles' stomach to flip and scrunch uncomfortably.

"We can discuss it tomorrow." He says and is grateful for Sean's nod and subsequent hasty retreat.

"Please practice outside from now on," Charles calls over his shoulder.

"Yes, Sir," Sean replies quickly, turning the corner.

He hates when they call him Sir. It makes Charles feel older than he already does.

**O o o**

The room is dark when he enters and Charles is glad for his early morning laziness of not opening the curtains. Careful not to slam the door, he crosses the spacious bedroom, dropping his damaged cardigan and unbuttoning his shirt. That joins the cardigan and he simultaneously toes off his shoes as he undoes his fly. By the time he reaches the bed, Charles is clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. With no preamble he crawls in, warm under the sheets, and curls up in a ball.

It is quiet up here, blessedly so and although the pounding is still quite prominent, he isn't bombarded with confusing emotions and swirling thoughts. Little by little he allows his mind to open up, soaking in the silence, reveling in the silken feeling of soft clean sheets against his bare skin.

He has been laying in the dark for twenty minutes when he hears the door open and shut quietly.

Careful footsteps make their way over to where he is and a few seconds later the bed dips. He snuggles down further into the warm blankets, but soon after unfurls and leans into the long body that has gotten under the covers behind his own. His bare skin rubs against soft, soft cashmere, and gentle, smooth thoughts play on the edges of mind.

"Bad day?" Erik asks quietly against his hair and Charles gives a small nod. He can't bring himself to speak yet, the headache still going strong despite his mediation. "When is the last time you took time to relax?" A shrug this time and Erik lets out a disappointed sigh. Fingertips rub at the base of his neck and fingernails scratch gently at the beginning of his spine. A pleased shiver goes through Charles' body and he can feel Erik's smile against his hair.

"Like that, do you?" He sounds amused as he runs his fingers along Charles' scalp. Charles leans into the touch, nearly purring at how good it feels; he actually nudges Erik's hand to continue when he pauses, and the other man chuckles. "You are shameless." The words carry such affection and warmth, Charles can feel his mouth pull into the first small smile of the day. And it is true, right now he is indulging himself – his need to be comforted combined with Erik's little known need to be tactile is a heady mix that he enjoys thoroughly.

He turns in his friend's arms, hoping the other man's hand will smooth along his back, and when it does another sigh of relief escapes his lips. The breath brushes against Erik's throat and Charles can feel the chest against his own hitch momentarily, the palm on his back pausing for a second before continuing its meandering journey. This is one of the few days Erik isn't wearing a turtle neck, choosing instead to bare his throat in a V-neck. Eyes still closed, head still aching, Charles leans in and presses his lips against the warm, soft skin of Erik's throat.

Another pause, and then the large palm on the small of his back is pulling him closer, bare feet tangling with socked. "You need to rest," Erik murmurs, even as his fingers dip into the waistband of Charles' boxers, caressing the baby soft skin there.

_Apparently I am not as exhausted as originally believed,_ Charles thinks. The small projection gives a twinge of pain but he ignores it, focusing on softly kissing Erik's skin. He smoothes a palm up Erik's strong chest and tangles his fingers in the short hair at the base of his skull.

_Don't be ridiculous,_ Erik thinks back even as he subtly lifts his jaw, allowing Charles more access. He presses himself flush up against Erik in the way he knows the other man loves; he never says it aloud, but Charles is aware of how much he enjoys the fact that he towers over Charles. Loves how slight and malleable Charles is under his touch. He can hear it when Erik is buried deep inside of him, fist pumping him slowly, urging him to _come on, let me see you fall apart, want to see you come all over my fist, all over your pretty little white stomach._

Those hands grab at his skin, gripping tightly when he sucks lightly at Erik's Adam's apple. It vibrates against his tongue as Erik groans. Arousal, hot and heavy settles in Charles' stomach.

_You should be sleeping,_ Erik thinks, one hand sliding down to grab a handful of Charles' arse. _Not necking like a rowdy teenag- do that again-_ Charles grins against Erik's neck and rolls his hips, a sinuous and drawn out movement that inspires images from last night to flash into Erik's minds eye – Charles on top, but still not the one in control, loving the way Erik's hands hold him down, using his smaller body for leverage as they jerk frantically against each other, striving towards the end. Charles, on his back, legs spread, willing his cock deeper into Erik's throat-

The kiss, when it comes, is fast paced and passionate, tongues slicking alongside each other and teeth tugging at lips. Charles pushes against Erik, willing the bigger man onto his back, but his friend resists. One hand grips Erik's hip and the other the back of his neck and he takes control. With his urging, the kiss settles into slow and lazy, and once he is sure Charles won't try to urge it back into aggressive territory, his hands go back to their gentle touches, smooth skin sliding against smooth skin."Later," he murmurs against Erik's swollen lips. "When your head isn't threatening to be the end of you."

Charles, breathless, wants to tell Erik he feels just fine, but even as he thinks this the pain numbed by adrenaline floods back and the base of his skull gives a nasty throb. Instead he gives another small nod, and relaxes into Erik, lips behaving against the skin it discovers.

He breathes deeply, allowing himself to fall into much needed rest to the feeling of fingertips playing in the small of his back and lips against his forehead.


End file.
